HP One-Shot Gallery
by Cillit Bang Bang
Summary: Short pieces that were fun to write, but don't really suffice as a basis for full, multi-chapter stories.
1. Commiseration

_The Ministry Six are heroes, but some people's fortunes decline in their wake. Two of them, disgraced and facing possible unemployment, commiserate each other's misfortune with some Ogden's._

**Commiseration**

The redhead shot a depressed look at the glass in front of him. "When did it all go wrong...?"

Next to him, a squat, violently pink woman who gave everyone who looked at her an oddly amphibian vibe, sighed. "I don't know..."

The redhead, presently, but not very likely to remain so Junior Assistant to the Greatest Minister of Magic of All Times, Cornelius Fudge, shook his head. "Everything was going so well..."

"I had power!" the woman, herself in the now rather precarious position of Senior Undersecretary of the Greatest Minister of Magic of All Times, Cornelius Fudge, almost shrieked, albeit with a somewhat uneven voice - the bottle in front of the pair was showing unfortunate signs of emptying.

Which was yet another reason for the woman's sour mood. "Would you, Weatherby?"

The redhead pulled out his wand, waved it at the bottle, and watched it refilling about halfway before it stopped. He muttered a few choice words he suspected his mother would've given him a thorough mouth washing for, his status as a legal adult notwithstanding, but decided that he just didn't care and tucked his wand away while shooting the uncooperative bottle a hateful glare.

"My loyalty has always been unwavering!" the amphibian continued to shriek, waving her glass around and spilling Ogden's on her companion's cloak.

"How could he be right? His career's always been in a dead end. He's never been right before..." the redhead muttered sullenly while contemplating the single malt swirling in his glass before taking another sip.

"If only it weren't for those meddling kids!" the amphibian spat, entertaining fantasies of actually finishing her _Cruciatus_ on the most insufferable brat of them all. They made her feel all warm and glowy inside. And a bit tingly in her feminine parts, come to think of it.

"Too right you are..." His useless, layabout excuse for a brother was now _famous_ and a _hero_. His father had been _promoted_, his wage now vastly outstripping Percy's. And that insufferable Potter boy who'd dragged his little brother down and into trouble _every year_ since they'd met, who'd had the unconditional support of the Greatest Minister of Magic of All Times, Cornelius Fudge, for four years straight, only to reward the Minister's loyalty by talking to the media behind the GREMMAT's back, by spreading... Well, not _lies_ as such, but _rumours_... _Dangerous_ rumours... Well, he was once again the media's darling, while the GREMMAT had to endure the public's ire. Such was the reward for six years of loyal service.

And he? He who'd gotten _all_ the O.W.L.s and had done a formidable impression of a Slytherin (Or a Hufflepuff? No... Percy quickly banished _that_ thought) to rise in the Ministry for two years straight? He was about to be cast away.

He glanced sideways at the woman sitting and drinking by his side, and sighed. Of course. How could he have forgotten. His older brother - the one he'd always suspected was playing for the other team, what with his long hair and earring - was engaged to a _fucking Veela_ while he was stuck with... With Trevor's mum. Obviously.

It was all so unfair.

The pair of them looked at the once again empty bottle, then at their once again full glasses, and emptied the latter in a fashion that would've made the redhead's younger twin brothers - who, of course, were _also_ earning more money in a week than Percy did in a month. And they hadn't even taken their bloody N.E.W.T.s - proud.

Then the pair shot the barkeep a look. "Tom?"

Tom didn't even look up from polishing one of his glasses. "Your usual room's free, folks."

The redhead and the amphibian gave silent nods and walked upstairs. Tom shook his head.

Hopefully the lady would croak a little less for once. It was bloody impossible to get some sleep when those two were staying for the night.

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**A/N:** Originally posted on Spacebattles as an omake of sorts to Andrew Joshua Talon's _Biting the Hand That Feeds You _(Also found here), or rather its sequel, _The Hand Bites Back_. This version is edited to fit the usual canon rather than the latter's, ah... Alternative timeline, and also fixed some other stuff.


	2. Grog

_Hermione's first ever friend at Hogwarts turned out to be a little... Unusual._

**Grog**

Ten points each richer, Harry and Ron returned to the girls' loo they'd locked the troll in with McGonagall and Snape in tow, already hearing the troll grunting inside. McGonagall unlocked the door and stepped into the lavatory... Only to freeze.

The troll was sitting on the floor next to the sinks, and McGonagall's brightest – if a little isolated – first year Gryffindor girl was sitting right next to it, a tiny hand resting on the troll's enormous knees. "-but really, you should think about forming a union – oh, hello Professor!"

It was a credit to McGonagall's ability to maintain her composure that she didn't remain speechless for more than maybe five seconds. "Miss Granger?" she eventually managed to ask. "What are you-"

"Oh, I've missed the feast, haven't I? My apologies-" she looked down at her feet for a moment before continuing. "But I was a little... Upset-" she glared at Ron, who was peeking at her and the troll from behind Professor Snape. "-and needed some time alone. And when Grog came in-"

"Grog?" McGonagall asked faintly.

"Oh, I didn't introduce you, did I? How rude of me! I apologise, Professor." Hermione stood up and made an elaborate gesture indicating the troll. "Professor McGonagall, this is Grog," she said. "And Grog, this is Professor McGonagall." She beamed at them both, though only Grog was beaming back at Hermione, who was already talking again, as was her wont. "I've of course memorised _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_, so of course I knew trolls often work as security and even learned a bit of Trollish – I thought it might come in handy –, though I'm surprised we didn't see any of Hogwarts' security trolls until now."

"Hogwarts doesn't _have_ security trolls, Miss Granger," Snape cut in at this point.

Hermione blinked. "Well, I'm pretty sure it has at least one." She nodded in Grog's direction. "Anyway, it was kind of boring to just sit here and feel sorry for myself, and Grog didn't really have anything in particular to do, so we started to chat."

"Herrrrmeeeoooneee nooooceeee!" Grog said, or rather shouted at this point, banging his giant club on the floor and leaving a sizable crater.

Hermione patted Grog's knee. "Thank you, Grog. So... That's pretty much it, really," she finished, once again addressing her Professors.

"I... See." McGonagall said after a few more moments of contemplation than were strictly necessary. "Nonetheless, I'm afraid that Hogwarts does not employ security trolls, and Mr... Grog... will have to leave."

"No!" Hermione shouted, slinging her arms around Grog's neck - or trying to, anyway. It was a big neck -, while the troll bashed another crater into the bathroom's floor to express his support for Hermione. "He's my best friend! And he likes me, too! A lot better than the strange man who ordered him to walk through the corridors without paying him!"

Snape's eyebrows rose up to his hairline upon receiving this piece of information, while the recently arrived Quirrell - who stood in everyone's back - choose this moment to quietly slink away rather than making a show of fainting again. Sure, he'd memory charmed the troll sufficiently to make identification impossible, but... Better safe than sorry.

"And besides," Hermione continued, "security trolls are very poorly paid, so I'm sure Hogwarts could afford to hire him." She actually looked a little angry for a moment. She and Grog had gone over mountain troll pay rates in considerable detail, and Hermione had been quite shocked by the degree of exploitation trolls were suffering from – as it turned out, trolls were usually in an excellent position to negotiate by way of clubbing, but they tended to forsake proper payment in favour of pig carcasses.

"Afford, maybe-"

"- or if you don't, I will!"

And so, Grog arrived at Hogwarts. Grog and Hermione quickly became inseparable, Ron Weasley's behaviour towards the bright first year rapidly improved, Draco Malfoy learned valuable lessons about keeping his mouth shut, and several months later, Hermione Granger, Marcus Flint and Grog received an award for their furthering of inter-house cooperation as Grog's budding friendship with the Slytherin Quidditch captain tore down the traditional barriers between Slytherins, Gryffindors, Muggle-borns and Purebloods alike.

* * *

**A/N:** Kind of random, edited from the Spacebattles version


	3. House Guests

_The Dursleys had good reasons to fear magic._

**House Guests**

The tall, scaly and vaguely greenish-tinted man looked down at Dudley, who, unsurprisingly, chose this precise moment to soil himself. "Interesting..." the man... No, _creature_ said, one of his grotesquely elongated fingers tracing over Dudley's cheeks and chin. "You've... Talents. The right spirit when it comes to treating your inferiors."

Dudley, whose face had turned the colour of freshly fallen snow, declined to answer.

"If it weren't for your lack of magic, you'd make a fine Death Eater indeed. You remind me of Crabbe, actually..." the man... _Creature_ continued. "How unfortunate that you should be nothing more than a Muggle... A mere toy to be used and discarded."

That was an analogy Dudley could understand. It did nothing to reassure him of his continued survival, though. "Ah... Uh..."

The grotesque face looking down at the boy smirked, or tried to do so as much as a quasi-reptilian facial setup could, anyway. "Do not worry... The magic the old fool has set up around your home prevents anyone magical from harming you, your mother or, most unfortunately, your cousin... I'm only here because I'm presently disinclined to do so..." The face paused, its fingers lifting up Dudley's chin to look into the boy's eyes. "Until your cousin turns seventeen. You still have almost a year to live, little Muggle."

Finally the creature turned around, and sat down opposite Dudley's ashen-faced father. "For now, little Dudley, I think you should change... The smell of urine isn't conductive to a pleasant evening, and we wouldn't want to spoil your cousin's surprise, would we?" Another pause, and Dudley was _certain_ he heard the creature _hissing_ to the enormous snake that'd wrapped itself around his father's equally enormous torso. "And don't forget, you and your mother may be protected by Dumbledore's magic... Your father on the other hand..." The creature paused, slit pupils focussing on the Dursley's pride and joy. "So be a good little boy and do as you're told..."

* * *

**A/N: **Another omake of sorts for Andrew Joshua Talon's _Biting the Hand That Feeds You_, though this one was technically triggered by _yet another _(Also positively brilliant) omake written by Son of the Veterinarian and a comment by rajvik_wolfboy. Originally on Spacebattles.


	4. The Tale of the Three Brothers

_Ever wondered how Ignotus' invisibility cloak was supposed to protect him from death?_

**The Tale of the Three Brothers**

Reluctantly, Death told Ignotus the secret to immortality.

On the first night after receiving their gifts, Ignotus hid himself under his cloak and quietly followed his oldest brother, Antioch, to the inn, where he performed the ritual as Death had instructed. He took his brother's life in exchange for his own and, sprinkled with Antioch's blood, he tore his soul asunder, hiding one half of it in his cloak.

Ignotus continued to live safely, knowing that the stone Death had gifted Cadmus with would bring him back should anything ever happen to him. Cadmus however, was overcome with grief over what his brother had done, and choose to end his life.

However, Cadmus daughter, who'd married Morven Gaunt, inherited the stone, and swore an oath that she, and her descendants, would bring back the last Peverell whenever the need arose, while Ignotus' own descendants would inherit his cloak as, unlike any others like it, it was now imbued with a soul, and therefore never lost its power.

Having his soul anchored to the mortal realm did not protect Ignotus from aging, and so he died many times. Each time, the Gaunts would use the stone's power to resurrect him, and Ignotus would assume a new name. He lived many lives, serving as Headmaster of Hogwarts, as Minister for Magic, he even ruled as a Dark Lord, striking fear into the hearts of his enemies. Sometimes, he'd choose a quiet life, siring children and tending to his garden.

But as times wore on, the memories of too many lifetimes took their toll on Ignotus while at the same time, the Gaunt family fell from grace, greatness turning into madness. The rituals that'd once ensured Ignotus' return became hazardous and prone to failure.

Eventually, Ignotus lost his mind, his very identity, and the hallows were lost to history. Yet the desire to once again acquire the hallows remained with him, memories bubbling in his subconscious and driving him to search for them in a never-ending quest.

~ The Tale of the Three Brothers as told by Unspeakable Luna Lovegood, daughter of Xenophilius Lovegood alias Ignotus Peverell; 2001

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**A/N:** Not exactly fitting the humour/ parody tags, I suppose, but well, they're only indicating the majority, anyway. Heavily edited version, the vastly inferior original is on Spacebattles.


	5. The First Horcrux

_Tom Riddle wasn't particularly imaginative. Almost everything he did had a precedent._

**The First Horcrux**

Tom stood over Myrtle's dead body, right hand carelessly petting his basilisk, who kept its eyes closed and just... _Purred_ in Parseltongue.

He remained this way for several minutes, drinking in the sight... Celebrating his triumph in silence.

Memories returned to him. Of the Pastor, clad all in black, visiting the orphanage. Tom had to admit, the dressing style appealed to him. Maybe add a mask to it for good measure...

_If you don't pray for forgiveness, your immortal soul will be condemned to hell when you die, Tom! These..._ Things _you do aren't good! Miracles are the domain of our Lord!_

_I do not intend to die, father._

_Everyone dies, Tom. It is to be human. Only our souls are immortal._

_I do not believe in souls, father._

His Pastor had looked... Shocked when Tom had said this, and in hindsight, the man had had a point.

It pained Tom to admit this, but even though they were painfully ignorant about what to do with them, sometimes even Muggles could've a basic grasp of magical concepts.

And it'd come in rather handily, hadn't it? If only to prove a point.

No... Tom wasn't concerned about his immortal soul. Not anymore.

He'd never leave this world. He'd make it _his_ world. Just like...

And at this point, Tom couldn't help but smirk. Jesus had been a wise man indeed. Not the son of God, perhaps. But his resurrection, mere centuries after Herpo had developed the theories surrounding Horcruxes... Not to mention that he was a direct descendant of the Parselmouth Eve.

Tom was Slytherin enough to connect the dots.

Even though they were divided by two thousand years of history, Tom couldn't help but feel a certain bond with Jesus of Nazareth. A certain fondness towards the man. He wondered whether his Pastor would've appreciated the irony. The atheist Tom Riddle, looking up to Jesus, almost as much as to Salazar Slytherin himself!

Of course, in the end, even Jesus had been a fool. Overcome with grief, with _regret_ – an emotion Tom had long since given up trying to understand –, he'd sacrificed his immortality a mere forty days after his resurrection. Had willingly _chosen_ death and left his disciples to complete his great work.

Tom respected Jesus, but he would never make such an elementary mistake. He, too, was recruiting disciples. He, too, was looking for his twelve apostles... But he'd not leave them behind.

He'd lead them.

Maybe Abraxas Malfoy would be his Paul.

**Return,** he hissed at his Basilisk. **I'll call for you again, soon.**

* * *

**A/N:** Original on Spacebattles. The mythology matches up _far_ too well not to make this connection. Though admittedly, Riddle is also prone to misinterpretations, if his first meeting with Dumbledore is anything to go by.


	6. Hermione's Revenge

_Hell has no fury like a woman scorned._

**Hermione's Revenge**

Hermione thrust the flask into Harry's shaking hands, though her eyes never stopped looking at her dying Professor. She saw Harry taking Snape's memories, saw the blood seeping from the twin wounds in Snape's neck that Nagini's bite had left. She saw Snape grasping for Harry's robes.

"Look... at... me..."

Snape's hand thudded to the floor, and he moved no more.

Hermione hadn't shed a single tear, hadn't shown the slightest emotion.

She was the last to leave the Shrieking Shack, and only then, unseen by her friends, did a hint of a smirk appear on her face.

They'd known they'd have to take out Nagini for a year. How foolish would it have been for them, for _her_ to not be prepared for the great serpent's bite? The Order and St Mungo's had successfully saved Arthur Weasley's life after he'd been bitten by the snake, and Hermione had made very sure indeed that she'd be able to save Harry's and Ron's lives as well, should the worst happen.

Safely tucked away inside her beaded handbag, the antidote and the blood-replenishing potions were waiting, ready to save lives.

_So much for 'Not seeing the difference' after Malfoy cursed me with a densaugeo._

* * *

**A/N:** You know it to be true~


End file.
